Trade Secret
by JaganshiKenshin
Summary: When an old friend asks Hiei to take an assignment at odds with his secret dread, Hiei balks at the fence.
1. Trade Secret: Prologue

Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters or The Batman (they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro and Bob Kane/DC), and does not make any money from said characters.

What Kenshin **does** own, however, are all the original characters

in this work, such as Father Brian and 'N.' Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be met with the katana, or worse.

The events in _Idiot Beloved_ take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline. For reference, I use a combination of the subtitled YYH anime and the American manga, plus some of the CD dramas.

This particular tale takes place about a year after the events in _Are You Loathsome Tonight..._and the 'Batman' we see here is a combination of 'Batman: The Animated Series' and one or two other sources, including the earliest _Detective Comics._

Title: Trade Secret: Prologue

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13

Summary: When an old friend asks Hiei to take an assignment at odds with his secret dread, Hiei balks at the fence.

A/N: Thanks for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

Dark Knight-meet Flying Shadow

Trade Secret (a Yuu Yuu Hakusho/Batman crossover: Prologue)

by

Kenshin

"No," said Hiei.

_Ah, well,_ thought Father Brian McCormick. _It's to be expected._

The carpet was soft and deep, and pale, milky light streamed in from the tall bank of windows opposite Father Brian's chair. _But sure and these Agency offices are just the thing of a glorious September morn,_ he mused.

_A pity it is that we are all four of us gathered under such unhappy circumstances._

Mr. Narita Shun (whom everyone called 'N') and Father Brian comprised two of the quartet. Hiei, the third. And though Father Brian knew full well the reason for Hiei's refusal, he kept his mouth shut.

Not so N.

A distinguished, portly gentleman, and head of the Agency's Tokyo branch, N was trying to _persuade_ Hiei. _Alas,_ thought Father Brian. _The lad won't persuade. No, you need a different tactic with that one._ Maybe pleading.

Just now, N assumed an expression of long-suffering, because Hiei was saying to him, "Is this a matter of national security?"

"It is not," admitted N.

"Has it caused Godzilla to rampage through the streets?"

"It has not."

Hiei folded his arms. "Then which of the two syllables making up 'N-O' has escaped your understanding?"

Seated at his black lacquer desk, N tried to stare Hiei down. Father Brian knew this also was an exercise in futility.

Yoshikawa Industries was the name on this suite of offices, situated in a Shibuya district hi-rise. That was merely a front. The firm dealt not in electronics, but espionage.

Sometimes, the Agency had a hand in wrangling the inevitable _youkai_ who decided a life of crime in the human world was their calling. The existence of such creatures was not generally known, even to some of the agents. But it was known to Hiei.

N pinched the bridge of his nose, while Hiei glowered at all and sundry, including Father Brian.

To the untrained eye, here was a good-looking lad in his middle twenties, with bristling black hair, keen crimson gaze, and a build for swift combat.

Except that Hiei wasn't exactly human.

For one, humans didn't come equipped with a third eye, for all that Hiei's Jagan was an implant and hidden behind his white headband.

On permanent duty in Tokyo by way of Boston, Father Brian had watched Hiei grow over these last few years from a sullen loner with a sense of honor, to a sullen loner with a sense of honor and a bulging caseload.

Give the boy credit. He griped, but always got his man. And there is far more to the heart, human or _youkai_, than presents itself on the surface.

No doubt Hiei's interior life was as surprising and varied as anyone else's, while the house of his spirit contained a nobility that he himself would vehemently deny.

_Ah, the dear little pissant._

Father Brian shifted his attention to the fourth person in the office: a tall man, caped and costumed, a mystery wrapped in an enigma, apparently absorbed in studying the view of Tokyo.

Hiei turned an almost comically-wounded gaze on Father Brian. "Aren't you always telling me I have the right to refuse any of your so-called assignments?"

Father Brian played his trump card. "Ah, sure an' I got nothin' t' do with this one, lad."

"Then why are you here?" Hiei demanded.

"Me? I just wanted to meet The Batman." Father Brian waved a hand. And in between the time that he turned toward the Caped Crusader and the time he turned back, Hiei had gone.

Disappeared. Vanished. Exited in an eyeblink.

Not so much as a doorknob had clicked, not a curtain had stirred. Father Brian chuckled, shaking his head in fond exasperation. The lad could move like greased lightning itself when so inclined.

N sighed. The Batman grumbled in disgust.

But Father Brian settled deeper into the easy chair. "Oh, he'll be back," Father Brian assured them. "Count on it."

-30-

(To be continued: What sort of job could be hellish enough to make Hiei bolt?)


	2. Scene of the Crime

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C1: Scene of the Crime)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: Hiei and Batman head north.

A/N: Ueda Issei, mentioned here, first appears in _Operation Rosary_ and later in _The Book of Cat With Moon._ For an explanation of 'American Cowgirl,' see _Sidekick._

For reference, I use a combination of the American YYH manga and the subtitled anime. Thank you for reading this tale!

A cocktail of secrets and half-truths goes down hard

Trade Secret (1: Scene Of The Crime)

by

Kenshin

They had said he would be working with The Batman.

Batman and Flying Shadow.

_No._

Which was why, Hiei supposed, he found himself descending to the Agency's underground garage, Batman at his side.

He took a moment to brood. Yesterday, Hiei had been offered the 'part of a lifetime.' And he was going to turn it down.

_Like you turned down __**this**__ job?_

_Shut up,_ he advised himself.

The Batman was big. Bigger than Kuwabara. Hiei was never intimidated by mere size.

Older than Hiei, too. Mid-30s, though age was difficult to tell with the guy's face and hands covered in that silly, ink-and-smoke costume.

He summed the Batman up: smart, tough, experienced loner. With something ineffable underneath.

_Like me,_ he thought. So maybe it wasn't instant dislike. Just its first cousin.

The Batman turned his attention to Hiei, with a voice like a rumbling volcano. "You may as well get all the bat guano jokes out of your system now."

"Don't have any. As long as you don't call me Robin."

"Very well, Mr. Hiei."

"Just Hiei."

Though he spoke passable Japanese, the Batman, like most Americans, mangled the pronunciation of Hiei's name.

Batman raised an eyebrow. "Just?" The ink-blue mask allowed for a full range of expression.

"Meaning don't waste your breath on honorifics," Hiei clarified. Then, curious, he asked, "Why Japan? Why now?"

"An old nemesis was here."

"You got him?"

"The Joker's heading back to Arkham even as we speak."

"They're always escaping."

"I didn't build the damn place."

"About earlier," Hiei began. "Nothing personal. I've worked with hum-ahh, outsiders before. It was the job."

"No offense taken. I had the same reaction."

Hiei didn't always mind human company. Shayla Kidd? Went without saying. But also Urameshi Yuusuke. Kaitou Yuu. Ueda Issei, another Agency man. Even Kuwabara, though rather than admit it, Hiei would prefer to be eaten alive by rabid muskrats.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out into the cavernous garage, where a jet-black Nissan Pathfinder waited.

The attendant, Hasegawa Martha, was a middle-aged Japanese Englishwoman with brimming, earnest eyes. "Take care, my loves! God bless, and flights of angels sing thee to thy sleep!"

"Martha." Depositing his sword in the back, Hiei climbed into the driver's seat. "It's just a missing _horse._"

And not just any horse.

Horseflesh being involved, Hiei had therefore paid an earlier visit to Shayla Kidd.

His Firebird was rehearsing at the Hirameki Dance Studio. The name Hirameki meant flash, or flair. Neither was an attribute of the studio owner.

Shayla Kidd was closer to being an expert on horses than Hiei would ever be if he lived nine lives. Her childhood friend Ronni Spencer lived on a ranch in Arizona where they kept saddle animals, including the notorious off-track thoroughbred, Jockey Stomper. Ronni's father Robert, a racing fanatic, kept up on backstretch gossip, which he passed along to Shay-san.

Grandma Hirameki had probably been born with her brillo hair and bullfrog voice. And maybe the cigarette hanging from her lip. When Hiei got to the studio she gave him a venom-soaked glare in greeting.

Shayla Kidd came tip-tapping to meet him. Talk about contrasts. A vision in marigold hair and glimmering gray eyes, here was Ginger Rogers as a pixie cowgirl. And also a spangling of sweat. Even Hiei noticed the heat.

The studio was an oven. Seriously. You could have baked a cake in there, but the icing would melt.

Gym and dance studio owners like to pretend they maintain a sweltering atmosphere to keep the athlete's muscles warm. In reality, they are too cheap to use air conditioning. And if they were halfway concerned for the dancer's well-being, they wouldn't be sucking tobacco. The air was a pungent blue.

A couple of years older than Hiei, Shay-san nevertheless seemed ageless as an elf and far too young to be the mother of their seven-year-old twins Michael and Cecilia.

Hiei could not suppress a grin. Since finishing the successful run of "American Cowgirl," Shay-san was now hired by a refrigerator magnate to portray the Frost Sprite. If those fridges didn't fly out the door, the public was blind.

Grandma Hirameki grudgingly let them use the bathroom: "Don't do nothin' in there I gotta clean up after!"

Squeezing between the stall and sink, Hiei had barely started the details of the case when he saw Shay-san's eyes were rimmed and netted with red, like she'd been crying.

"Grandma's that tough on you?" he demanded. "Do I need to clock her?"

"No, no." Shayla Kidd waved a dismissive hand. "Allergies. I think it's her cigarettes. Straight from Tierra del Fuego."

Just another example of Grandma's 'concern' for her dancers. You couldn't treat an animal like that without bringing down the law. Hiei finished his briefing, and the race horse expert swung into action.

"Autumn Velvet." She nodded. "Dynaformer mare out of Velvet Jewelcase. She's in foal to Gatecrasher."

"And missing. What can you tell me?"

Autumn Velvet's dam, Velvet Jewelcase, had been a looker who lacked the fire to race well, but Autumn Velvet combined elements from both sire and dam.

As for Autumn Velvet's sire Dynaformer, his personality had earned him the stable name 'Godzilla.' Even Hiei had heard of the monster stallion, big of bone and swift of teeth, a towering 17 hands-over 5 and a half feet-at the shoulder.

"When Autumn Velvet brought her 'A' game," said Shay-san, "other horses ate her dust. But she never seemed to be the same horse twice in a row."

"Maybe you'd like to saddle up for this mission and I'll be the dancing refrigerator fairy."

"She won a few graded stakes, but in her final race, she clipped heels with another horse. Stumbled but rallied to come in second. The next day her left foreleg was swollen."

"So basically she got rear-ended and came up gimpy."

A coarse bellow sounded from the depths of the studio. "Yer wanted on the set, Kidd!"

"One minute," she called. "The injury wasn't life-threatening, but serious enough so her connections retired her."

"If she's such a valuable animal, why sell? Especially to another country?"

"Money problems. When she went on the market, Kyoho Bokujo Farms bought her. And you caught a lucky break."

Hiei gave her a questioning look.

"Over 90 percent of horse farms are way up in Hokkaidou," she replied. "This one's just a couple hours north, in Gunma."

"Got it." He started to squeeze out of the bathroom.

"Wait..."

He turned to regard her.

Shayla Kidd worried her lower lip. "The mare's a handful. When you find her, don't come at her front end. For that matter, don't come at her back end. Don't-" She stopped, rolled her eyes. "What am I talking about? You rode Jockey Stomper."

_Didn't ride him so much as hang onto him deaf and blind._

She smiled. "You'll be fine."

_When you find her. Not __**if**__._

More than a little fearful she would say 'yes,' Hiei asked, "Want Batman's autograph?"

She gave a condescending snort. "Get me Autumn Velvet's."

Grandma bammed on the door. "Get a room, you two!"

And Hiei had gone to meet Batman at the Agency, wondering what a horse's autograph would look like.

Now, with a nod to the attendant, Batman slid into the Pathfinder's shotgun seat. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Martha blew kisses.

Hiei sighed. "You have Arkham. We have the Agency."

"And no Batmobile," griped Batman. "Sure you don't need a telephone book to see over the top of the wheel?"

_Don't. Take. The. Bait._ Hiei steered up the corkscrew ascent led to street level.

Batman slid the GPS screen forward. It was more than a mere GPS: the latest model IntelliPal, powered by Betty. "How do you work this?"

If the Bat couldn't figure it out he wasn't worth ten yen. Hiei said, "Trade secret."

"Suit yourself, Junior." Batman worked the touchscreen.

Hiei ground his molars.

"I already gathered intelligence on you, and it wasn't even classified." Batman gave Hiei a sidelong look. "A pop star?"

"Perfect disguise. Pure genius."

"No secret identity?"

"Don't need one." They reached street level. A double-secured green door stayed closed until the hidden sensor scanned the car and its occupants.

"I know who you are." The Batman sounded smug. "You don't know who I am."

"Don't care, too," replied Hiei. "Here's the deal: if we're both alike, one of us is unnecessary. I kill things and break people."

"And run out on meetings," Batman reminded him.

_No. Takey. Baitey._ Batman might be a gold-plated bastard or merely testing Hiei's mettle.

Satisfied that they were not enemy agents, the security door rolled up. Hiei steered into traffic. "And you-?"

"I detect."

Detective? Kuwabara with brains, Kaitou Yuu with muscles, Kurama with no sense of humor. "Where to, Detective?"

"The scene of the crime."

"Fine. I drive, you navigate." Threading past a Honda coupe, then a Mitsubishi sedan, Hiei again got the sense of a volcano, its deadly load of lava barely held in check.

With longstanding experience in assessing combat potential, reading aura, body language and a dozen other subliminal 'tells,' Hiei realized that the Batman might be one human he couldn't whip in a bare-knuckles brawl.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Apart from a curt "Bear right," Batman remained engrossed with IntelliPal.

Hiei had dressed for the occasion in what he liked to call Anonymous 101: well-worn jeans and a lightweight cotton plaid shirt. He could pass for anyone or anything.

As for the Batman, in broad daylight, the smoke-and-ink costume appeared outlandish.

Hiei would never have imagined a situation where he'd _prefer_ the company of Kuwabara.

Grateful for tinted windows, Hiei drove north.

-30-

(To be continued: The horse farm hides many secrets.)


	3. Yakuza!

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C2: Yakuza!)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: Hiei and Batman meet with evasion.

A/N: Contemporary Japan now has a world-class horse-racing industry thanks in part to stallions like Sunday Silence.

The events in _Idiot Beloved_ take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline.

I appreciate your reviews and thank you for reading this tale!

"Doesn't that priest tell you anything?"

Trade Secret (2: Yakuza!)

by

Kenshin

_Kitsune no Zorro,_ Hiei thought: _Zorro, the Fox._ The part he would have to turn down because of-

A remake of the old American TV series, not on film, but a stage production, where there could be no stunt doubles.

Or maybe there could. Zorro wore a mask. Like Batman.

"Yakuza," interrupted Batman, studying 'Betty.' "As you would know had you stayed for the briefing."

_Eat toads and die._

Yakuza. Right. The missing horse's owner was a former Yakuza. Father Brian McCormick had said as much in their earlier phone conversation. No doubt the pit-bull of a priest had been rolling on the floor with mirth over the way he'd played Hiei.

Father Brian had shaved the truth in the Agency office. He did indeed have something to do with the case, as the Yakuza, an old friend, had contacted Father Brian, and Father in turn contacted the Agency. But Father had prevaricated for dramatic effect. Hiei would forgive him.

In time.

"_Ex_-Yakuza." Hiei passed two sedans on his left. "Gave it up a year ago."

"Yomohiro Kiten," mused Batman. "Interesting."

Hiei paid attention to names. The ex-Yak's family name, 'Yomohiro,' meant 'Four Directions;' the given name, 'Quick Wit.'

Never mind the horse; the owner sounded like a handful.

"Why did he pick Gunma?" growled the Batman. Most horse farms are located in Hokkaidou, called 'the Kentucky of Japan.'

Some 62 miles northwest of Tokyo, Gunma had indeed been the center of Japan's horse industry-five hundred years ago. Today, all that remains of that heyday is the government mascot, Uma-chan, a cartoon horse.

The very name of the farm, Kyoho Bokujou, meant 'long strides,' alluding to the identifiable, swaggering walk adopted by Yakuza. To Hiei, it looked like Yakuza were overgrown babies waddling around with the discomfort of loaded diapers.

Most Yakuza sport elaborate tattoos on their arms, backs, and places Hiei had no interest in seeing. Unlike the Mafia, they do not quite operate underground.

Though many Yakuza activities are illegal, Yakuza on occasion mobilize to provide disaster relief in the aftermath of earthquakes and tsunami. They like to think of themselves as family for people who have no family.

"Yakuza." Batman seasoned the word with scorn. "Bet before the day's out we run into ninjas, too."

_And I bet we run into youkai._ But the Agency had not cleared Hiei to reveal the existence of demons to the Batman. Nor did they waste Hiei on horse thieves.

_Speak softly, carry a big sword._

If Hiei had been teamed with Kuwabara, there would be the perc of taunting him on the drive to Gunma. If Kurama, ditto, plus a top-notch investigator. Shayla Kidd, best of all: another top investigator, and all she'd have to do was open her sweet little Spellcaster mouth: "Why don't you gentlemen tell me who really stole the mare?"

Odd, too, that everyone assumed theft. The horse could have simply walked off. Horses did stupid things.

_If things don't go well I'll think of my poor Firebird in that sweltering studio, waiting for the autograph of a horse._

Tapping 'Betty,'Batman said, "Kiten. Two kids, not married."

Hiei hurled the Pathfinder between a bus and a coupe. Plenty of room. Maybe an inch. He made it without trading paint, and the driver of the coupe awarded Hiei's road prowess with a single-digit salute.

"Listen, Detective. When you make a collar, it makes the headlines." Hiei was a Shadow Warrior, an unsung, unheralded footsoldier in a covert campaign against widespread evil. "What I do, I do in secret, no accolades, no witnesses, no news coverage, and that's just the way I like it."

"Meaning?"

"My mind's on more important matters. It's useless to make me guess whether this guy's a widower, divorced, or just a goat."

Batman chuckled. "The kids are adopted."

_Something you could have mentioned at the start, you gold-plated bastard._

"The younger, Mick is 12," related Batman. "Jiro is 21. Kiten has a thing for symmetrical numbers. Doesn't that priest of yours tell you anything?"

_Bastard and a half._ "Father Brian's methods are none of your business."

("Live right behind your own eyes, son," Father always said. "Don't take my word for nothin', nor anyone else's for that matter. Sure an' you've got a unique way of seein' the world, which in the last analysis is all you can count on.")

It was already late in the afternoon when Batman indicated an exit. South-central Gunma, where meadow met mountain in towns and farmland.

They rounded a curve and there it was. Beneath an arching metal gateway, the tree-lined driveway led them to twenty acres of prime land, trimmed out for horses, rolling pastures bordered by thick woods, with a cluster of buildings.

At the end of the driveway was a wooden-frame house three stories high, white with green trim. Near the house was a smaller, similar structure, painted the same colors, possibly the farm offices, or staff lodging. The single stable, painted with the farm colors, lay to the left.

Hiei parked in a circular gravel drive and got out to retrieve his sword and stretch his legs.

Under a hard shiny sky the trees were still in summer green. Even away from the city's heat, the air was breathless. No bird called, no leaf rustled.

"Storm's coming," said Hiei.

"Impossible." Batman scowled at the sky. "There was nothing on the radar."

"It's coming."

"How would you know? You got a weathervane in your head?"

"Trade secret." The 'trade secret' was Hiei's Jagan, the third eye concealed behind his headband. Not natural, but an implant, the Jagan allowed him to feel the unusual, approaching storm: a dull heaviness, unlike the glass-shard pain with which he sensed youki.

What also struck Hiei was the farm's pristine condition. As though it had been built only yesterday.

"Not a blade of grass out of place," Batman remarked.

"I know this spread in Arizona," mused Hiei. "The Spencers keep a couple of nags on hand. The stable's clean enough, and so's the house, but this-"

"Thanks for the background, Cowboy."

"I'm not a cowboy. Just played one on TV." Hiei pulled out the Agency device that resembled a phone in the same way the Pathfinder add-on resembled a GPS.

As expected, Hiei had several messages from Shay-san. Even with all that equine info she'd given Hiei off the top of her head, Shayla Kidd had braved the wrath of the old battle-ax who ran Hiramkei Studios to collect further data.

Such intel would make Hiei appear expert, without actually being one. It was just another act of kindness on her part.

Given his background, Hiei could withstand any act of cruelty and laugh in its teeth. But the double-edged sword of compassion could pierce his heart. He released a long breath.

The farm _was_ new. It had been completed only last month. That didn't have to mean anything. "Let's get this over with," said Hiei. "I want to be back in time for dinner."

"Nice to see your high commitment to duty," sneered Batman.

_Jackass._

They walked up the drive without mutual bloodshed. Batman knocked on the door.

A dignified middle-aged woman in tweeds admitted them. Though she would have seemed at home in an English manor, and though the wooden-frame house was modeled after one, it still had a genkan-the alcove where one exchanged street for house shoes. Out of sheer habit Hiei toed off his sneakers and entered the house in stocking feet.

Batman neglected to follow suit. The tweedy woman led them down the hall.

With most gambling illegal in Japan, the Yakuza not only run protection rackets, but also their own gambling rings.

Some are involved in drug dealing or human trafficking. Not Yomohiro Kiten. Good thing, too. Hiei would have been obligated to behead him.

The former Yakuza met with them in the library.

In his early 60s, Yomohiro Kiten had watchful eyes in a lean, weathered face. His thick gun-gray hair was close in color to a gray suit that contrived to look countrified but which had probably cost the equivalent of a thousand dollars. He spoke in a careful, husky voice, and though his manner seemed deferential, it made you stand a little straighter.

The library had floral wallpaper and rose-colored carpeting and looked a little female for an unmarried Yakuza with two sons. One wall adjacent to the door housed built-in bookshelves. The opposite wall had a sofa upholstered in more floral fabric. The desk faced away from the windows, and there was a bar cart with bottles of Suntory whisky and a steaming pot of green tea.

Yomohiro offered tea. Hiei declined. Batman took a cup but held it without drinking.

If their host recognized Hiei as a former member of the boy band Romantic Soldier or a cowboy on TV, he kept it to himself.

With Batman, Hiei had spoken English. Here, he switched to Japanese. After introductions, relying on Batman's interrogation skills, he wandered around the room to live behind his own eyes.

It was considered impolite to appear abrupt in business dealings, but Batman dove right in. Though Batman may have been familiar with Japanese culture, he was after all an American.

Hiei was Japanese-it said so on his passport and driver's license-but his acquaintances liked to insult him by saying he behaved like an American.

That shoe might fit.

The horseowner sat behind his gleaming oak desk. Batman sat in a leather chair opposite.

On the bookshelves, lots of literature about horses and their training and breeding and care. A mix of old and new volumes, some of them well-thumbed.

Hiei slid one out. _The Art and Science of Betting._ Horse racing is one of the few legal gambling venues in Japan.

"What does this missing animal look like?" asked Batman, "I don't want to pounce on some local plow horse."

"There can be no mistaking Autumn Velvet for any plow horse." Yomohiro indicated a framed photograph of a sleek mare the color of molten copper. The mare was posed like a show dog in the middle of a field, wearing a halter clipped to a lead. Whoever held the lead was out of the shot.

Next to the portrait of the horse was another framed photo.

This was a studio portrait shot-the lady was about 20, with soft black hair and kind eyes. Hiei studied her. A sister? A cousin? With her aristocratic features she looked nothing like the lean, weathered Yomohiro Kiten.

Batman said, "When did you notice the mare was missing?"

While Yomohiro considered, Hiei darted glances at the ex-Yakuza. Yomohiro caught him at it.

"Who saw?" Batman pressed. "Who reported it?"

Steepling his hands, the ex-Yak considered further.

There was a pasture visible from a back window. Rolling lawns bordered by a wooden fence painted white. A few mature trees. Hiei posed a question of his own. "That's where Autumn Velvet was kept?"

Hiei's words roused Yomohiro from his reverie. "Yes. I came into the library just at daybreak. When I didn't see her, I sent a stablehand to look. But she was gone."

"How early do the stablehands arrive?" said Batman.

"They live here," Yomohiro replied. "The care of horses is a 24-hour business."

Batman glanced out the window. "Who runs the farm?"

"I try to keep things as much in the family as possible."

"So you run things?" Batman continued, "Or does Jiro?"

"My elder son? No. Jiro was-"

"Unsuited to the job?" Batman cut in.

The Yakuza thought a while. "Perhaps not interested."

"He's an animal rights activist, is that correct?"

Hiei was annoyed. _Again, something you could have mentioned. Teammates don't hold out on each other._

"A member of the radical Animal Liberation Police," Batman continued. "Doesn't think anyone should so much as own a pet."

"Jiro has been many things before that," murmured Yomohiro, "and no doubt will be many things after."

"No watch dogs, then, I take it?"

"I thought of getting some miniature donkeys; they're like watch dogs for raising an alarm, and they would be good company for Autumn Velvet. But that is, how does the expression go...?"

"Locking the barn door after the horse got out," Batman supplied. "Is Jiro present?"

"No. In fact I haven't seen him today. He probably doesn't yet know about Autumn Velvet's disappearance."

"Who else is on the premises?"

Yomohiro glanced at his watch. "We have a farm manager, Takahashi-san, but Tuesday is his day off."

"Naturally," growled Batman.

"The lady who let you in is his wife. Also my housekeeper."

"Do you employ a veterinarian?"

"Not full-time. Few farms do. His name is Kobayashi-san, and he checks the stock as needed. I called him today to alert him-" Yomohiro flicked a glance out the window. "In case the mare is returned in less than ideal condition. He is leaving soon, but you may be able to catch him and speak with him."

Hiei spoke again. "What about your farrier?"

Batman flung him a look of mild surprise.

"Guy who shoes horses," Hiei explained. "Sometimes floats their teeth-files them down so the horse can eat in comfort."

The ex-Yak was re-assessing him. That wouldn't do-Hiei was playing young and dumb.

"Or so I'm told." Hiei shrugged.

"Few farms even in Hokkaidou," said Yomohiro, "employ full-time, on-premise farriers or veterinarians."

"So who exactly is on the grounds?" Hiei continued.

"Apart from my housekeeper, whom you've met, and the manager, we have the three of us: Mick, Jiro, myself; plus our two stablehands Arai and Satou, and a groom, Watase. The housekeeper calls in a cleaning service as needed. The grounds are maintained by a contract firm that, like the farrier and veterinarian, come as needed."

"Let me guess," rumbled Batman. "Today's their day off."

Yomohiro sighed. "As you say."

Hiei considered that though the Spencer spread was a cactus ranch, not a breeding farm, they employed more hands than this operation. Even with the five Spencers pitching in, there were men to pluck cactus, clean stables, and keep up the property.

_Interesting._

Batman pressed, "What about the boy, Mick?"

"He helps some at the stable whenever he's not in school."

Batman said, "Why not Hokkaidou? Why here?"

"I have always had my own way of doing things."

"Does your own way of doing things include an insurance policy for the horse?"

Yomohiro took a breath. "It does."

"To the tune of?..." rumbled Batman.

The ex-Yakuza mentioned a sum equivalent to two million dollars.

_Interesting again,_ thought Hiei.

"Ransom notes? Threatening phone calls?"

"None."

_Interesting for the third time._

"Mr. Yomohiro, do you have any enemies?"

The former Yakuza gave a husky laugh. "You would have to search all of Tokyo to find someone who wasn't."

_He's exaggerating,_ Hiei thought, _but probably not by much._

"Why did you call Father McCormick and not the police?"

"I wish to avoid publicity."

The Batman rose, towering above Yomohiro. "We'll do what we can," he said. "But if we don't find the mare, do bring in the police. I'm just here for the day. They have the time."

"Time?" Yomohiro gazed out the window. "Every further moment Autumn Velvet is missing means less likelihood of getting her back alive."

_At a good price for you,_ thought Hiei.

-30-

(To be continued: In the stable, intrigue lies thick as hay)


	4. Whitewash

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C3: Whitewash)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: A still, hot day sheds a breeze of suspicion.

A/N: The events in _Idiot Beloved_ take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline.

Dynaformer, sire of Autumn Velvet, was alive and in fine if ferocious fettle at the time Hiei and Batman were called to Bokujou Farm. Dynaformer's true greatness proved to be as a sire: he produced Barbaro and many international Black-type winners, including steeplechase horses. He died in April, 2012.

What is the secret of the half-empty feed bin?

(Trade Secret C3: Whitewash)

by

Kenshin

Hiei watched Batman leave, then asked for the bathroom.

Ever courteous, Yomohiro indicated a door down the hall. Hanging in the hallway was another portrait of the young lady with the kind eyes. This was no posed studio shot. She was wading into a stream, holding her shoes, her slacks rolled up.

"That lady," Hiei began. "Her picture was in the library."

The ex-Yakuza did not elaborate, so Hiei tried another shot. "Why did you resign?"

Yomohiro stood for a moment, considering. "You might suppose a Yakuza to be tough."

_No. I think you're a candy-pants bunch of wannabe toughs._ Hiei kept his mouth shut and his silence was taken as interest.

"But do you know who is really tough?"

Hiei shrugged.

"Father Brian McCormick."

_Amen to that._

"Here is a man who can walk unarmed and whistling at night, through the most dangerous district, and never bat an eye."

_Yeah. He can even intimidate me._

"Have you never faced a situation where it took more courage to part with those who were once your allies than to remain?"

"Maybe." Hiei had no need to dwell on his former life as a thief and killer.

A smile curled the ends of the ex-Yakuza's lips. "We understand one another."

_Not yet,_ thought Hiei. _But I will before the day's done._

The Yakuza turned his gaze to the photo. "Her name was Hana. My fiancee. She is with us in spirit."

Hiei went into the bathroom and shut the door.

_With us in spirit? That explains the feminine touch._ The bathroom breathed country-manor elegance, with white tile, golden oak cabinetry and fixtures of brushed bronze.

On the white marble vanity, where you might expect another fixture of brushed bronze, was a Dragonball Z soap dispenser. Hiei once had a bit part in the series as a reporter, no more than three lines. It strained credibility to think the dispenser had been put out simply for him.

A beaming Son Goku held out the three-star Dragonball. Press his arm. A bead of orange-scented soap emerges.

No. Something a kid would use. Mick, away at school.

He met Batman on the front lawn.

"What took you so long?" griped the Bat. "Did you need to find a step-stool to reach the faucet?"

Hiei supposed he could hop into the Pathfinder, burn rubber and let the Bat sort everything out. Soothed by the daydream, he said only, "What now?"

"The vet, if I can catch him. Then see if the housekeeper doesn't have lockjaw."

"I'll speak to the groom."

Batman raised an eyebrow. "Groom? What for?"

"Trade secret." It was Shayla Kidd's suggestion that the groom might know Autumn Velvet better than the owner.

Without Batman's looming presence, Hiei felt more like himself. In fact, considering the intel that Shayla Kidd had given Hiei, it was as though she walked alongside him, and he was able to see things in a new light.

Outside the rear of the stable, Hiei encountered both stablehands forking hay into a wagon and push-brooming the path.

Hiei might have expected Yakuza-hired help to come with colorful names like 'Road Kill' or 'Juice Box,' flamboyant hair and multiple piercings. But they just looked like home-grown farm hands. Both were in their mid-20s. Satou was dark and gangly, and the cigarette glued to his lip made Hiei think of Grandma Hirameki. Arai, with puffy eyes and sallow skin, might have spent his off hours feasting on earthworms.

The interview was as brief as it was unfruitful. Neither kid stopped pitch-forking or push-brooming.

Hiei went to the front of the stable. It was painted white and green to match the house. Above the open double doors was a horseshoe, ends facing up like the English letter 'U.' Horseshoes were nailed that way so 'the luck wouldn't run out.'

_Didn't work,_ Hiei thought.

Inside it was cool and dim and smelled of equine.

Fitted for ten horses, the stable had five stalls on each side, with half-height doors that would allow the occupants to peer over the edge.

Twin alcoves on each side of the entry doors served as tack and feed storage areas. The tack area also had a large desk with a phone and a microwave oven. Hiei supposed the staff had to have some way of communicating with Yomohiro, and the microwave was a common amenity for heating bowls of ramen noodles or tea.

The wide-plank floor was whitewashed; the stalls and walls were of plain boardwood.

Someone ambled through the gloom to meet him. The man was tough to read in the dim light: only an inch or so taller than Hiei but twice as broad, impassive in overalls and gumboots. With a voice as dry as hay, he introduced himself as Watase Ken.

Watase was deferential and polite, but Hiei got the sense that his was an unwelcome intrusion.

Unwelcome or no, Hiei stated his purpose, concluding, "The stablehands didn't hear anything."

"They never do." The groom led Hiei forward. "Is there anything in particular I can show you?"

"You can show me who stole Autumn Velvet." _Everyone here is playing it so close to the vest they could double for me._ Hiei spotted a black-and-white head poking over the top of the middle stall-too small for a horse, too mature for a foal: a pony.

Horses are social animals; racing stables usually have dogs, goats, or other horses, for company and calm.

"_He_ stole the mare?" Hiei approached the stall.

The pony whickered, and his large liquid eyes pleaded for a nose-rubbing. He looked as harmless as an oversized stuffed toy, but thanks to Shayla Kidd ("Never, ever pet a strange equine.") Hiei kept his hands in his pockets.

"This is Tiger Shark."

"Oh?" As Hiei spoke, Tiger Shark pinned back his ears, bared his teeth, and snapped. Hiei didn't flinch. Watase seemed to re-assess him favorably.

"Good with other horses," the groom said, "not with people. Owner after owner sold him off. He landed in a children's petting zoo. It was a bad idea. Lucky he only bit a handler. Even so he would have been put down if not for the Master's intervention. The Master is very kind to these hard-luck cases."

"Is 'the Master' much of a horseman?"

"In his day, the Master was a heavy bettor. This is his first venture into breeding, but I expect he will make good."

In the stall next to Tiger Shark's, a guttural grunt drew Hiei's attention. An ugly dun-colored head that could have belonged to a minor species of dinosaur thrust over the half- door. "And what hard-luck case is this?" Hiei asked.

"Old Ramoth? From the next farm over. He once pulled a plow. That one is quite safe."

The sway back, and the gray sprinkling the horse's muzzle, were a testament to his age and former profession. Ramoth sniffed noisily at Hiei, reminding him of a bloodhound. He wondered aloud whether the horse could use his sense of smell to track the mare.

"If you had all week, Sir. He's old, slow, and blind."

As if to prove it, Ramoth reached out and lipped Hiei's hand. His muzzle felt like a wet broom. Stepping back in distaste, Hiei wiped horse slobber on his jeans. "Were these two turned out with the mare?"

"Usually, Sir, but not today. Perhaps this is why Tiger Shark is restless."

Hiei looked around. "Nothing but a stable full of useless hard-luck cases."

"Not Autumn Velvet, Sir. She was-is-going to be our foundation mare."

"Why not a stallion? Isn't that where the money is?"

Horse breeding is more art than science. Everyone wants the next Secretariat, or even the next Gatecrasher. Few succeed. With a single mare, the ex-Yakuza with no racing or horsemanship background was starting small.

Stud fees for an outstanding horse can reach $65,000 or more, and an active stud can cover up to a hundred mares per year. With Japanese owners and breeders seeing potential in race horses that others do not, one might think Yomohiro would start with a stallion like Sunday Silence, who went on to become a foundational sire.

But the man was a gambler.

"A stallion?" The groom shook his head. "Perhaps some day, Sir. You would have to ask the Master."

_And maybe "the Master" has already ditched the mare for the insurance money._

On to Autumn Velvet's empty stall, where the groom stepped in to polish imaginary dirt from her feed bin. There was a couple of inches worth of grain in the bottom of the bin.

Hiei asked, "A little snack for later?"

"No, Sir. This was left over."

"Is that usual?"

"She seemed off her feed this morning." An unguarded look flickered over the groom's face. It could have been worry. Or acid reflux. "Most of the time, she eats everything in sight and begs for more, but mares in foal do develop peculiar tastes."

_Yeah. Just on the day she disappears._ Barely waiting for permission, Hiei took a plastic zip bag, scooped up a handful of grain and sealed it in the bag. "Don't touch the rest of the feed," he cautioned the groom.

"No, Sir."

"Autumn Velvet." Hiei read the name placque aloud; it was in both English and katakana, the phonetic characters used to write words of foreign origin.

Off the track, horses usually have a nickname. Man o' War was called 'Big Red,'as are many chestnut horses. Seabiscuit was known as 'Pops.' "What's Autumn Velvet's barn name?"

The groom told him.

Hiei, fluent in both Japanese and English, recognized the word. It was used by men of low breeding to describe beyond-difficult females. It was a bad word. Did Watase know its meaning? Catching his glance, Hiei knew that he did.

"We didn't name her that, Sir," Watase said apologetically.

"Does she live down to the nickname?"

"She gets along with other horses," the groom began.

"-but with people?"

Watase hesitated. "She's not a bad horse. Not to speak ill of any trainer or or owner, but horses are all different, and some need special handling."

"Do they?" Having ridden Jockey Stomper, Hiei knew as much, but he was interested in what the groom had to say, not what he thought. "You know about her sire, Dynaformer. He's got a reputation as a man-eater."

The groom shook his head. "In a way, Miss_ is like Tiger Shark. Perhaps she simply needed a trainer who would be more sensitive to her moods."

Hiei noted the addition of the honorific to the mare's unfortunate barn name.

That fenced pasture. Jockey Stomper, one of the Spencer horses, hadn't been much of a race horse, but he was a first-class fence-jumper. "You figure she got out on her own and might try to find her way back to Santa Anita?"

"Jump the fence? Doubtful, Sir. Being in foal and all."

Thoroughbred broodmares gestate for about a year. According to registry rules, they all celebrate a 'birthday' in January whether they are actually born in that month or not.

"Then did someone let her out?"

"Who, Sir? I can't imagine."

Tiger Shark squealed, as though displeased that he was not the subject of the conversation.

"And you," Hiei asked Watase. "What's your bad-luck story?"

Watase snapped on a light, revealing broken capillaries and a swollen nose. He reached into a pocket of his overalls, withdrew a bottle of gin and displayed it for Hiei.

"Let me guess. No one else would hire you."

"I was a groom at Tokyo Racecourse when I first met the Master. In those days I still had that job. We're all a bad lot here, Sir. Any one of us could have done it."

"Even you?"

Watase replaced the booze. Hiei noted the bottle was sealed. Untouched. Symbolic, perhaps. He thought of horseshoes and good luck that had turned bad.

From that same pocket, the groom retrieved a fistful of something that made a crackling sound.

"Put out your hand, Sir."

Hiei complied, and into his open hand pattered a number of round, red-and-white candies, with a familiar, refreshing scent. Peppermints? He stared, bemused. "What are these? A reward for not crying when the pony attacked?"

The groom favored Hiei with a half-smile.

"These are her favorites. Please, Sir. Bring her home."

Hiei was forming an opinion, not only of the groom, but the ex-Yakuza as well. _Every minute she's gone is another minute we're less likely to get her back alive._

He put the peppermints in his own pocket, then went out to meet the gold-plated bastard known as Batman.

-30-

(To be continued: Gunshots send the investigators running)


	5. No Need For Tenchi no Hi

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C4: No Need For Tenchi No Hi)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: While Hiei ponders his weaponry, shots ring out.

A/N: The 'night eye' of a Thoroughbred horse, a small callous on the inside of the leg, is often used by the Jockey Club for identification purposes.

_Firebird Sweet_ details Hiei's aversion to helicopters.

"Well, Cowboy? How would _you_ do it?"

(Trade Secret 4: No Need For Tenchi No Hi)

by

Kenshin

Hiei left the stable with more questions than answers, to find Batman waiting in the driveway, scowling, tapping his foot. Batman's visible impatience annoyed Hiei, who then took his sweet time strolling up to him.

Storm clouds had gathered into a battalion of clenched fists, darkening the sky. "Rain," Hiei muttered. "Told you so."

"Don't rub it in," snapped Batman.

They regarded one another warily.

In broad daylight, the bat costume had seemed outlandish, even comical, as though Batman had wandered cluelessly off some cosplay stage. But here in the gloom, the ink and smoke garb appeared formidable, even chilling. Against the dark mask Batman's eyes took on a strange glow.

Bats are creatures of the twilight.

And as much as they didn't get along, Hiei was curious about Batman's capabilities. "Housekeeper?" he inquired.

Batman rolled his eyes. "I now know all about keeping the house dust-free."

"Some detective." If Hiei could have bitten it back, he would have. Over the years, in part by observing Kurama's cool, controlled approach, he had come to realize that churlishness was a weakness, and had struggled to curb it.

Batman lifted his lip. "What about the groom?"

Hiei hesitated. Then: _You held out on me, and not even Kuwabara ever did that._ He shrugged. "Their pony bites. Maybe he ate Autumn Velvet."

Batman grunted in disapproval or disgust. "On to the matter at hand, Junior." A brace of vehicles waited on the pavement surrounding the pasture nearest the house. One was white; the other, of indeterminate color.

Batman walked toward them; Hiei followed. "And the vet?" Hiei asked. "What's his take on this?"

"That the mare should be shot."

"The groom says she's up for equine canonization."

"Figures."

As they approached the vehicles, Hiei pondered his weaponry. Dragon? No way. A horse thief was not enough of a threat, and the flames of the Dragon too difficult to control.

Other fire attacks? Scorching fists, flame sword? Overkill.

Green Eyeball Guy might represent a power-up, but linked as it was with the Jagan, more of a drain than necessary.

_Tenchi no Hi?_ The Flame of Heaven and Earth, sword that occupied neither space nor time and containing Sword of the Archangel, his most powerful attack? Overkill and a half. No need for Tenchi no Hi.

Hiei had other tricks up his sleeve, not exactly weapons, but handy in a pinch. His speed. His Jagan, which could see the unseeable.

Batman stopped near the two vehicles. "We've been given the use of this Suzuki Samurai or-this golf cart."

The Samurai looked old. And battered. Hiei climbed in. "You drive this time."

"Too bad your ex-Yakuza doesn't keep a helicopter."

"He's not 'my' Yakuza. And I'm allergic to helicopters."

"Afraid of heights?"

_Gold-plated bastard._

Batman set the Samurai into motion. As they made a slow circuit around the horse playground, Batman said that a section of fence on the side farthest from the house had been modified.

"Modified?"

"As in tampered with." Batman braked where the fence had been disturbed. On one side of the pavement was the fenced pasture. On the other side was a wide shoulder of grass for about thirty feet that met the wall of surrounding forest. "Dirt strewn around the bottom of the fence posts, as though the posts had been muscled out, and later simply jammed back in, with no attempt to smooth things over."

"I can see that."

"Also, deep hoofprints just inside the fence. As if the horse were-heavier than usual."

"Wonder how far the thief could get, riding her."

Thunder rumbled.

"What if," Batman pondered, "the thief rode the horse to a vehicle standing by? One that looks like a regular delivery truck, that could move without suspicion, and today-"

"-was everyone's day off," finished Hiei. "This whole thing reeks of cleverness."

"Beg pardon. My Japanese may not be up to snuff-"

"I'm speaking _English_."

Batman turned in the driver's seat to regard Hiei. "Well, Cowboy? How would you do it?"

Stifling his annoyance, Hiei studied the property and the woods surrounding the farm. "You want to kill the nag? Get a sharpshooter, stake him up in a tree, take her out with a high-powered rifle. Boom, you're done, and you flee through the woods before they notice she's dead."

"And if you were going to steal her?"

"Bring a van," said Hiei. "Take her someplace safe, hidden but relatively near. Then call with your demands."

"I suppose you'd wait until the owner was frantic."

"Yomohiro doesn't do frantic."

"You'd still delay. That gives you bargaining power."

"And a chance that the law will find you first."

A few drops of rain pattered down. Across the encroaching dark, a last defiant blaze washed the sky crimson and orange.

"What if you planned to keep the mare?" Batman pressed. "Switch her color to black, for instance, then use her and the foal to breed your own stock?"

_Shayla Kidd, invisible by my side._ "What for? You couldn't sell the foals for real money. She'd just be some anonymous backyard broodmare."

"What about racing her again, under a different name?"

"Can't. Every thoroughbred race horse has a lip tattoo."

"Tattoos can be altered."

"But not the night eye."

Batman grunted. "I thought you were speaking English."

"Inside the horse's leg. As unique as a fingerprint."

"If you say so. But suppose a hoarder got her?" Batman went on. "Someone who just wants her, like an art thief who keeps a masterpiece hidden in his basement?"

"You could be right," Hiei said grudgingly. "Maybe that's why there wasn't a ransom call. Well, Detective? Your turn."

"Given the amount of time since the mare disappeared," said Batman, "I think we're looking for a can of dog food."

_Then why'd you make me prattle on like this?_

"But we have to start somewhere, Cowboy. Which way-into the woods, or the highway?"

"Woods."

Batman slipped the parking brake, then headed down the pavement, searching for a break in the trees.

_Every minute's delay means a dead horse._ That's what Yomohiro had said, that's what Batman believed. _I hate failure._

Then-_Youki!_ A sudden, sharp rise of youki.

Pain like a glass shard shot through Hiei's head, from temple to temple.

_I sense youki. Not a very powerful youki. Maybe little more than an animal. In which case it might already have gobbled up the horse. Sad groom._

_Sad Shayla Kidd, fan of dangerous Dynaformer and his difficult daughter. No horse autograph._

But if the _youkai_ was little more than animal, a mere walking appetite, he'd eat dinner on the spot, or at best drag it off into the trees. So how did that explain the hastily-mended fence, which indicated an attempt to cover his tracks?

Hiei could waste his time lumbering around with Batman in this Jeep wannabe, or he could use his powers and find out.

Who needed a helicopter?

He sprang from the vehicle, moving so fast the Batman would not be able to track him. In hyperspeed mode, Hiei rebounded off tree branches that should have cracked under his weight and velocity but which did not.

In moments he was balanced on the tip of a towering evergreen, on the edge of the forest, able to see all around.

Above the trees, the air seemed paradoxically warm. He removed his headband, releasing the Jagan. Rain tapped his face.

Below, the forest was a dense green canopy that blocked much of the view. With his implanted third eye, seeing the unseeable, Hiei detected a dirt track running through the trees, wide enough for a car to pass.

It might have been a road once, connecting farm to farm, a road now overgrown through neglect, or it might be a naturally-occurring path worn wide by equal years of use.

It was narrow in spots, but at one or two points broad enough for a truck to pass.

The Jagan also alerted Hiei to the fading heat-signature of a large vehicle. This proved to be a dirty white panel truck parked in a wide clearing. A vehicle big enough to hide a horse.

Maybe it was just the milkman. And maybe Bigfoot won the Kentucky Derby.

It might take a quarter hour for Batman to reach the truck.

The truck door opened. A masked figure in black jumped out, ran around to kick the left front tire, then kicked it again.

He did not seem pleased.

_Target acquired._

Hiei's next thought was, _Jiro. The elder son. He wasn't around this morning. Inside that getup, it could be anyone._

Hiei wondered whether Jiro, of the Animal Liberation Police, had decided to set the horse free: a high-strung animal in foal, needing care both for herself and the foal she carried.

Hiei could reach the truck in a flash, and there was nothing about a ninja he couldn't handle, or for that matter a _youkai._

But why not see what the Batman would do?

With a feral grin, Hiei tied his headband back on, warding the Jagan. In another eyeblink, he returned to the Samurai.

Batman gave a startled grunt and braked to a halt. He scowled. "Is that all you're good at-disappearing?"

"Only sometimes."

"How did you do-"

"Trade secret." Hiei described the truck, the figure in black, and their approximate location.

Putting the Samurai back into gear, Batman spoke with supreme scorn. "Told you there'd be ninjas."

The 'ninja,' however, was spewing _youki_. Hiei pointed. "Fastest way is straight through the woods. There's a path about a mile ahead and to the right."

As Batman steered for the trees, the rain started in earnest, bouncing off the Samurai, seeping through their clothes. Then, even above the roar of the engine and the hissing rain, Hiei heard the explosive sound of a gunshot.

Batman hurled the Samurai forward. The sense of _youki_ stopped as though cut off by a sword.

At the path, Batman cornered on one wheel, just like Shayla Kidd. Hiei's estimation of the Caped Crusader rose a notch.

They burst into the forest. Hiei on the hunt. In his element. At last.

The perp was as good as caught.

Under the trees, the scent of damp greenery was thick. Leaves formed a canopy against the rain and dimmed the last rays of the sun. Batman switched on the headlights.

Now the 'track' revealed itself as a pitted desolation, humped and twisted like the back of an ancient, arthritic dragon. The Samurai scraped along trees, ripping chunks of bark, strewing leaves, bouncing back onto the dirt.

A protruding tree root snagged the tires; the Samurai bucked and fishtailed. Batman throttled down, but it still felt like being trapped inside a paint-mixer.

The track switched back on itself, and they made the hairpin turn with a single tire clawing the road, and the track widened again. The Samurai thumped back onto all fours and shot forward.

Their headlights stabbed the gloom. The panel truck loomed up broadside, rising like a landlocked white whale.

Batman slammed the brakes, and the Samurai spun to a halt, trembling and gasping, steam pouring from its overworked engine.

Batman brought the Samurai around, and the headlights illuminated a strange scene.

The clearing spanned some thirty feet. About six feet from the open rear of the white truck, the ninja sprawled on his back.

Hiei felt a chill. Jiro, dead?

He thought of his twins, Michael, Cecilia, only seven years of age, not likely to commit either horse thievery or gunplay. But in this world, things happened, unforeseen things.

His thoughts spun. Who would bring Yomohiro Kiten the news of his son's death?

Was Jiro part-_youkai?_ And could there be an accomplice with gun in hand, even now drawing a bead on them?

Hiei had been shot before. Once was enough.

They remained in the Samurai, Batman echoing Hiei's thoughts, his voice low. "If the ninja has an accomplice..."

"Better to attack than defend." _Time for the Jagan? Find the accomplice? Even on the other end of a gun I could take him out. But then I'd have to explain everything to the Bat._

Maybe not. Batman retrieved a flashlight from his utility belt and got out of the Samurai. He approached the black-clad figure. Hiei followed.

If there was a hidden shooter, he'd be pulling the trigger about now. Hiei's skin crawled.

Batman played the light over the truck. "Flat," he said, pointing to the deflated front tire. Then he shone the flash on the fallen ninja. "Cover me."

Hiei put a hand on his sword.

Batman approached the ninja. Kneeling, he pressed his fingers to the ninja's throat.

Then he rose, his eyes like two white-hot coals. "It's a murder case now."

-30-

(To be continued: Who is the ninja, and where is the horse?)


	6. Ninja's Got A Gun

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C5: Ninja's Got A Gun)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: There's the body, and there's the gun, but they don't quite add up.

A/N: I appreciate your reviews and thanks for reading this tale!

"_That's_ what an autograph looks like."

Trade Secret (C5: Ninja's Got A Gun)

by

Kenshin

Rain spattered the leaves and set them dancing in a last burst. Then the waterworks stalled out.

Surrounded by sodden greenery, studying the dead ninja, Hiei felt the skin on his back crawl.

He wasn't squeamish about the body. Or the dark. Or even Batman's eerie, looming presence. But the ninja's accomplice might be drawing a bead on them.

A breeze forced through the dense canopy of trees, whisking away the scent of leaf mold, carrying with it another, naggingly familiar smell.

Batman claimed Hiei's attention. "If he's dead-"

"Who fired the shot?" concluded Hiei.

"Suicide?" suggested Batman. "If he heard us coming."

"Then there'll be a gunshot wound."

The ninja's black costume covered him head to foot. But the mask, unlike Batman's cowl, had no 'ears,' and only a slit for the eyes.

Batman stepped past the body, then scooped something from the ground. "What have we here?"

Rhetorical question. Hiei was no munitions expert, not like Shayla Kidd, but from where he stood it looked like a medium-caliber pistol.

One benefit in particular to wearing gloves: you could handle evidence without compromising it. The weapon dangled between Batman's thumb and forefinger.

"Ninja's got a gun," Hiei said.

Batman sniffed the gun, reminding Hiei of old blind Ramoth. "Cordite," he said. Hiei could smell it from where he stood, but the cordite was mixed with that other fleeting scent.

"That means it's been fired recently," Batman explained.

"Thanks for the lesson, Pops."

Batman turned his spooky gaze to Hiei. "Ever hear of a ninja with a gun?"

Rhetorical Question Two. "He's no ninja." And not even human, as only Hiei could know.

"Shall we find out?" Batman knelt beside the body and drew back the black hood concealing the dead man's features.

Unmasking the ninja revealed a human-enough looking creature, though not quite as human-looking as Hiei.

A garden-variety oni. Though it would have been possible for him to pass as human, this dead ninja-wannabe would need a low light and willing suspension of disbelief to do it.

His skin was sallow and unhealthy-looking, bumpy, moist, his features flat and broad and just a touch toadlike.

Hiei must have made a sound of recognition.

Batman glanced up. "You know this guy?"

"Know of him."

"I don't think he shot himself." Blood oozed from a wound on the ninja's forehead, but it wasn't a bullet wound. There was something about the wound, too, that nagged at Hiei, but this brief sense of _deja vu_ was brushed aside by a sense of relief.

The dead man wasn't Jiro.

Kneeling for a closer look, he told Batman, "His name-Gesu-literally means lowlife." Petty thug. Always slipping through the barrier separating the human from the demon world to wreak mischief, always getting sent back home.

_Not this time. Poor bastard._

Against an equally unwanted surge of pity, Hiei clenched his teeth in disgust. _I'm turning into a damned marshmallow._

_No, worse. A choking, teary-eyed, schoolgirl._

Batman scowled. "He doesn't look quite right."

In his line of work, surely Batman had tangled with all sorts of oddball, even freakish humans. But because of Agency constraints, the necessary secrecy of the Shadow Wars, and the general inadvisability of letting humans in on the existence of the demon plane, Hiei was not at liberty to discuss this thug's true origins.

"You're telling me," Hiei said, calmly enough. "Maybe his unfortunate appearance led to a life of crime." He didn't swallow one word of that compassion-crybaby hogwash himself. He could only hope he had sold it to Batman.

Rising, Hiei pulled out his phone, and keyed the yellow button, which opened a direct line to a certain Agency office. "Clean-up on Aisle Six." Receiving an affirmative, he hung up.

Batman folded his arms. "Now what?"

"We wait for the Agency squad." They had already pinpointed Hiei's location from his device.

Batman frowned. "The man who's been killed-"

"Agency matter," said Hiei. "Let them handle it their own way-and not a word of this to Yomohiro."

"You mean we just sit here and wait."

"Not exactly." Kneeling, Hiei studied the dead youkai's face, only to discover that it was not Shayla Kidd alone who walked alongside him unseen, but also Father Brian McCormick.

("Live behind your own eyes, son. In the end that's all you can rely on.")

_All right, Father. Here goes._

Gesu hadn't been dead long. His eyes were still open, as though with shock. On his low, sloping forehead-

Hiei rose. "This is no murder."

He had been wondering all along just what a horse's autograph would look like. Shayla Kidd, in making an offhand remark, almost a joke, had set his mind to work.

In size and shape, the mark was eerily similar to the horseshoe hanging from the stable for luck. A U-shaped wound reaching from Gesu's low hairline, down his sloping brow, then rising back into the hairline. Almost like a brand.

"Ahhhh." Batman got down beside the body, nodded sagely.

"And since he hasn't been dead long-"

"-Where is the horse?" Batman concluded.

As if in answer, Hiei heard rustling in the undergrowth.

-30-

(To be continued: What looks like a swift end to the case is only the beginning.)


	7. Homeward Bound

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C6: Homeward Bound)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: A delicate dilemma tugs against the need for haste.

A/N: _Idiot Beloved_ takes place shortly after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline. This tale takes place about a year after The Cowboy Trilogy, which tells of Jockey Stomper and the battle in the desert (in _Once Upon A Time In The West_).

Thanks for reading this tale!

"So that's why they sent me..."

Trade Secret (6: Homeward Bound)

by

Kenshin

Thunder rolled, but it packed no punch. The rain had spent itself.

Hiei had sensed Autumn Velvet was nearby. Subliminally, he'd even smelled her, but the discovery of the dead ninja with the gun knocked it to a back shelf in his mind.

He peered through the gloom.

Across the little clearing, Autumn Velvet lay struggling on the ground. Hiei's heart sank. So the bullet had found her.

But even as he hesitated, she heaved to her feet and stood behind a tree, her feet tangled in the underbrush, as if she was hiding from them.

But she was between them and the dense forest. "If she bolts," said Batman. "Runs through those trees-"

"Disaster." Shayla Kidd had said, _If a horse can find a way to hurt himself, he will. If not, he'll invent one._

"Think she took a bullet?"

"Don't know." _And if you'll shut your piehole,_ thought Hiei, _I'll find out._ He inched toward the animal.

Autumn Velvet tossed her head. _Trying to decide whether to bolt? Snagged in the undergrowth? Too hurt to move?_

_Or maybe just trying to think up a way to get herself hurt._

He stopped, saying to Batman, "Listen, we don't have to get along to solve this case, so-"

"Who's not getting along?" Batman laughed. "I'm enjoying every minute."

_Eat slugs and die._ "Riiight."

"I threw everything at you but the Batplane," said Batman. "And hardly got a rise out of you. That got my respect. After that I was simply sitting back, watching how you operate. You just go right ahead, Cowboy. Can't wait to see what you'll do."

_Platinum-plated bastard-colored-bastard covered in diamonds._ "I'll try not to disappoint you."

He thought about the situation. _Horses can sense youki maybe better than I can. Jockey Stomper did. _

A freak wind blew the stormclouds away. The last ray of sun plummeted to earth and struck the horse.

Autumn Velvet took after her sire Dynaformer: a big girl, bigger than the bay gelding Jockey Stomper. Surrounded by Twilight-Zone gloom, her chestnut coat glowed like poured topaz; Hiei could see how she had earned her racing name.

He took a moment to be impressed.

She stood trembling, poised on a razor edge of fight or flight, every inch the high-strung lady.

He stepped toward her again. The mare didn't flee, but she wasn't happy either. Snorted and backpedaling, she pressed her ears flat against her head. But she didn't backpedal far.

Waiting for the mare to calm down, he studied her. "She's got a hind leg stuck in some brambles."

But as he took another tentative step, she shied again.

Hiei heard the flapping of Batman's cape. "Keep that damned thing quiet!" Shayla Kidd again: _Flapping fabric spooks horses._

Once the cape was silenced, the horse settled.

_Well, here you are. This is one situation you can't muscle your way out of. A complete arsenal at your command, and the only thing that'll work now is coaxing and patience._

_If you have the guts._

_Wait._ He could call the farm, have them send out a van, a real horse van and not a panel truck, and more than likely Autumn Velvet would gladly go with her groom.

_Wait again._ That would take time, and she could bolt at any moment, further tearing up her leg, or worse. There could be predators in the woods, if only in the form of feral dogs.

Besides, this was not just the discovery of a missing horse, but also a crime scene, and Hiei could not allow that pair of dimwits Satou and Arai to trample all over the evidence.

"Well?" Impatience laced Batman's voice. "It's your country, your call."

Hiei nodded. "My call? Then we have a problem."

"Which is?"

"For protocol's sake, I can't move the body or the truck. Someone has to be here to meet and greet the Agency men. But I also want to get the horse back to the barn, stat."

Batman spread his arms wide. "Be my guest."

Taking his eye off the horse for a moment, he stared at Batman. "I thought you could do everything."

"That's just my personal charm talking."

Autumn Velvet had settled a bit. Her ears still flicked back and forth, as though following the conversation.

_Well. So this is why they brought me in on the case. They think I'm some kind of horse whisperer._

Before he had ridden the roughneck Jockey Stomper, Hiei had been, not exactly afraid of horses, but wary.

Okay. Afraid.

His fear had come from lack of knowledge, and now he knew a little bit more. He'd only ridden a horse once, from dire necessity, when Jockey Stomper found him deaf and blind in the desert after that battle with a shadow monster.

And about to turn down the part of a lifetime, _Kitsune no Zorro,_ because it involved horseback riding.

He must have spoken this aloud, because the Batman said, "Interesting. Do go on."

"Quiet." The horse had already been scared enough. There was lather on her neck, and white rimming her eyes.

He took pity on her. It was enough to conquer his fear.

She wore a halter. Good.

Not taking his eyes from her, he asked, "You got a Bat-rope in that utility belt of yours?"

"Uh-huh." There was the soft clack of a pocket being opened, the faint hiss of a rope being tossed.

Hiei put out a hand and caught the rope. "I think she saved herself. Kicked her captor."

"Before or after the shot?" wondered Batman.

"Does it matter?"

Autumn Velvet grunted. Leaves crunched under her hooves. Underbrush rustled.

Animals liked the sound of Hiei's voice. At least, Jockey Stomper had. So did casting directors, but they were easier to capture than a nervous broodmare.

She was an American horse, and had probably not 'learned' much Japanese, so he continued to speak in English. "Listen, you stupid old nag." He kept moving forward, his voice level and calm. "I rode Jockey Stomper, and you're a rocking horse compared to him. So don't give me any crap or you'll taste the business end of my sword."

Her ears flicked back and forth. Maybe she heard something else approaching from the trees. Another possible danger. After all a horse is a prey animal. But if Hiei tried to rush, she would sense only his urgency, bolt, and break her leg. It would pain him to see such a magnificent creature destroyed.

"Marshmallow," he told her. "That's what I've become." He kept his voice soothing and regular. "Schoolgirl."

Prey animals though they are, horses are dangerous. From the front, they can bite. From the rear, kick. Yet this was no wild mustang, but an exhausted mother-to-be.

"Hungry, I bet," he told her. "Me, too."

All the time stepping closer. He was no true horseman, much less a true cowboy, and could not hope to lasso her at this distance. She swiveled her ears toward him. Her head was up, her eyes wide, but no longer rimmed with white.

"And thirsty." Speaking partly to Batman, partly to Autumn Velvet, he said, "Horses need five to ten gallons of water a day. Bet you could use a drink now, you miserable nag."

He took another step.

Her ears swiveled again, both pointing toward him. She thrust out her head. Her nostrils flared. She sniffed. Like old blind Ramoth.

_The peppermints,_ Hiei realized-_the ones the groom gave me. She can smell them!_

With silent thanks for the groom's foresight, he palmed a peppermint and removed its cellophane wrapping. With his other hand he got the rope ready.

He held the mint with his hand flat so the horse didn't accidentally nip him.

While Autumn Velvet crunched the mint, he scratched her withers reassuringly, and she was fine with that. By the time she begged for a second mint, he had secured the rope to her halter, then to the tree.

Her right rear leg was snagged in thorny bushes and a little cut up. With one swordstroke he severed the brambles. Then he unwound them.

She was freed. He gave her another mint. _Great. More horse slobber._

"Well," said Batman. "I'll be-"

"She's just tired, thirsty, hungry. Anyone could have caught her at this point."

"If he knew what to do."

"Trade secret."

"Now what?" said Batman.

Untying the rope from the tree, Hiei led the mare out of the brambles. "Come on up here," he told Batman, "but slow."

Though Batman moved with stealth, Hiei heard his approach, and knew without looking when the Batman stood beside him.

Autumn Velvet took a half step back, but no farther. She didn't particularly fear Batman, and when Hiei got the bag of grain from his pocket and held it out to Batman, the horse swiveled her ears, as though keenly interested in the transaction. "I'm trusting you with this," Hiei told him.

Batman took the bag. "Your dinner?"

"Her breakfast. I think they drugged her grain."

"Do you now?" Batman smirked down at him.

Horses are sometimes tranquilized before being loaded into a van or moving to a new pasture. This is not a bad thing. It prevents nervous animals from panicking and hurting themselves. Those drugs are carefully chosen and administered by a vet. But an unknown substance, poured into the animal's feed? Stupid. "How else could the thief get a high-strung aristocrat like this into a panel truck?"

"Well, Cowboy. For someone who, by his own admission, breaks people and kills things-let's just say I'm impressed."

Hiei snorted. "Don't imagine this means we've kissed and made up."

"Don't worry" Batman stroked his prominent chin. "But I haven't just been lounging around enjoying the rodeo. I've been thinking about the case."

So had Hiei.

Batman continued. "By the time you and the horse reach the farm I'll have this solved."

"Thanks for trying. If you die first, I'll send flowers."

"Want the flashlight?" Batman held it out.

"Better keep it. So you don't get scared in the dark."

Batman called him a bad name. Hiei laughed. The tension between them was gone.

Then he spoke to the mare, drawing gently on the makeshift lead, rustling the cellophane-wrapped mints in his pocket.

She came forward willingly enough, but pulled back when they had to pass the 'ninja's' body, and refused to go on.

It would have gone badly, but Batman put himself between the horse and Gesu. Then, by means of another mint, Hiei was able to coax her past the sticking point.

"The Agency team will arrive soon," said Hiei. "They might even have that chopper you wanted."

Batman nodded. "Good luck, Cowboy."

Autumn Velvet seemed to walk well enough in spite of her lacerated leg. It would need a horse doctor to see if she was seriously injured.

Hiei led her through the woods, pausing to feed her a mint now and then, pondering the case.

He was not tired. His footing was sure, his only worry the horse. But she came along willingly. Perhaps she had some sort of instinct that they were homeward bound.

The journey reminded Hiei of riding Jockey Stomper through the Arizona desert-only this time, not being blind and deaf from the effects of Tenchi no Hi, he led the way.

This role reversal felt significant, as though he should know its meaning, but Hiei was too busy making sure he didn't lead Autumn Velvet straight down a rabbit-hole to figure it out.

-30-

(To be continued: More surprises wait back at the farm.)


	8. You Can Lead A Horse To Water

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C7: You Can Lead A Horse To Water)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: Away from Batman, Hiei ponders some conclusions of his own.

A/N: Any other character sketches can be viewed on my blogspot.

The events in _Idiot Beloved_ take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline.

I appreciate your reviews and thank you for reading this tale!

"I know who done it!"

Trade Secret (7: You Can Lead A Horse To Water)

by

Kenshin

At last, water.

On the outskirts of the farm, Hiei spotted an old-fashioned hand pump and a galvanized tin bucket. Autumn Velvet eagerly nudged Hiei's back.

Hiei was aware that he was leading two million dollars on a rope. For that kind of money, what would someone do?

Just about anything.

The money would go to Yomohiro. But would the ex-Yakuza hire a two-bit thug like Gesu to do the job?

Autumn Velvet regarded him with a dark, liquid eye. "You know who was in on it," he told her. "But all you care about is food and water."

She tossed her head.

"Well, we have that in common."

While leading the horse through the woods, Hiei had heard the _thok-thok_ of chopper blades. The Agency was on the scene, probably even now in the clearing with Batman, the truck and the not-human ninja.

The horse thumped his shoulder.

"Cut it out." Priming the pump with rainwater already in the bucket, Hiei brooded over the day's events.

The horse had gone missing at daybreak. Hiei and Batman arrived on the farm in the afternoon.

That was a long time for a lot of nothing to occur.

They had found the truck and the dead youkai a mere fifteen minutes travel time from the farm.

The trickle of water in the bucket seemed loud.

Autumn Velvet plucked at Hiei's rain-sodden jacket. "All right, you miserable nag." He set the half-full bucket on the ground, and the mare dipped her head to drink.

Batman had said he would have the case solved before Hiei returned to the house. Hiei chewed his own suspicions. Nothing quite added up to two million dollars.

Finished, the mare pushed at the empty bucket, demanding more. Hiei refused. Maybe too much water would hurt her.

She lifted her aristocrat's head to gaze accusingly at him, her water-dripping muzzle spoiling the effect somewhat. But she re-established her sovereignty with the gracious air of a queen accepting a peasant's assistance, allowing Hiei to lead her home.

That was that. Hiei would never be altogether comfortable with horses, and would never like riding them. But he could deal with it now.

The stable was warm, dry, and lighted. Watase Ken hurried to take the mare from Hiei, whereupon she promptly forgot the existence of the man who had freed her and led her home.

"You found her, Sir! Oh, you found her."

Hiei hushed him. Fat lot of good it did.

Also in the stable was the brat, Mick, he of the Son Goku soap dispenser.

The name fit. Mick wore bulky anachronistic clothing: a faded blue sweater with straw clinging to the fleabitten sleeves, thick khaki cords, and a newsboy cap that barely tamed his mop of brown curls. He radiated a tough-guy attitude, but when he saw Autumn Velvet, the wide-eyed kid in him lit the stable with joy.

The groom threw his arms around Autumn Velvet's neck, and she nuzzled his shoulder, whickering, and Mick joined them, and the other horses made horse noises, and Autumn Velvet answered in horse language, and they might as well have let off an air horn.

Hiei cut short the reunion. "She's cut some and lathered up from her little misadventure. As far as I can tell she's not moving like she was seriously hurt, but I'm no veterinarian."

"That's all right, Sir," the groom assured him. "We'll look after her."

"Put her in some other stall. That leftover feed and her own stall remains untouched. She's probably hungry, but don't feed her off anything that's already been opened."

"I'll get her some fresh hay." After securing the mare, Watase looked her over, and commenced feeding her.

Mick went to stand in front of Tiger Shark, communing with the fierce little pony while he wiped his runny nose and eyes on an already-dirty sleeve.

Hiei watched them. "Thought you were away at school."

The kid gave him a scornful once-over. "No punk school can hold me!"

"Especially not after the bus brings you back home," Watase said. Mick reddened, clenching both fists.

Hiei's mouth twitched in amusement. _Like a young Urameshi._

"Schoolboy or no," Mick said, "I know who done it. But I ain't no squealer."

"Save your breath, kid," Hiei said. "We're the pros here."

Mick retorted, "And we're the pros with horses!"

The groom gave Mick a fond glance. "The young Master does have a way with them, Sir. Even that pony."

Mollified, the boy nodded at Tiger Shark. "He's okay with girls or kids. But a guy like you shouldn't come near him."

"Don't lose sleep on that account," Hiei said.

"In spite of your size," Mick continued, "he can tell you're a man. Not a kid."

"Thanks for the tip."

"You can't fool Tiger Shark. He can smell that you're grown up, hear it in your voice. Same with Mr. Watase here."

_The horse can't be fooled._

So. Mick the horseman. Not Japanese, though he spoke it well enough. Not American. Maybe British, maybe Canadian, and complete with his own hard-luck story. What was his take on Yomohiro and Jiro?

Hiei could guess.

"Maybe it was a man who beat Tiger Shark into biting," Mick went on. "Or maybe someone thought it was cute, him nipping when he was little. My job's to teach him it's not."

"And you're just the one to do it," said Watase, fondly.

Secured in another stall, hay trailing from her rotating mouth, Autumn Velvet whickered in seeming agreement.

"That barn name of hers," said Hiei.

"What about it, Sir?"

"Change it."

"To what?"

"If it was me," said Hiei, "I'd name her Hana."

"After the Master's...?"

Hiei nodded. Watase grinned in delight. "I will ask him, Sir." Then the groom went to the phone on the tack room desk.

Hiei asked, "Who are you calling?"

"The vet. Those cuts look clean enough, and I can wash them and wrap them, but an expert should-"

Hiei shook his head. "Consider this an order. Don't alert anyone, and above all, do not feed her from the same sack she was fed from this morning."

Mick jerked his head in Hiei's direction. "This guy's got the right stuff."

This time, Hiei couldn't stifle a laugh. "That's a load off my mind."

Back in one rain-soaked piece, damp and reeking of horse, Hiei left Autumn Velvet to the experts and headed to the house.

It started raining again. Just his luck.

-30-

(To be continued: Hiei's back, but where is the Batman?)


	9. Showdown

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (C8: Showdown)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: Every action, good or bad, has its consequences.

A/N: _Idiot Beloved_ takes place right after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ is its sequel.

Here, I refer to the Gate of Betrayal. In the anime Hiei, Kurama, Urameshi Yuusuke and Kuwabara Kazuma are trapped in a tunnel, with a stone slab descending to crush them. Even though Hiei had sworn to kill Yuusuke, Yuusuke trusts Hiei to dart forward and return the lever, saving them-but not without a seasoning of drama.

I appreciate your reviews and thank you for reading this tale!

"Care for some ham?"

Trade Secret (8: Showdown)

by

Kenshin

The housekeeper ushered Hiei into the library. She was much the same as before, all tweed suit and smiles, and the library much the same as before, with flower-shop decor intact and, at this hour, lamps chasing away the dark.

Yomohiro greeted Hiei and introduced Jiro. This was Hiei's first view of the elder boy, who was as non-Japanese as Mick, but there the resemblance ended. This was a bony, high-strung youth with corn-pale hair, water-pale eyes and elongated hands. And he was twitching like a rabbit on a hotplate.

No Batman. Where was the Caped Crusader hiding?

Maybe he was having coffee and donuts with the Agency squad. _He'd better bring some back for me._

Autumn Velvet was safe in her stall munching hay. Even the horses had been fed. Not Hiei.

The rolling bar now displayed not only liquor, but assorted canapes: ham cubes, cheese slices, pickled plum, and edamame. Hiei wanted to fall on the spread like a crazed wolverine.

Instead, he regarded the cast of characters.

The ex-Yakuza seemed the same: quiet, canny, self-controlled, but on the sofa next to him, Jiro was not.

Jiro gave Hiei a wounded look and turned to his father. "What's HE doing here?"

Yomohiro was busy digging holes in Hiei with his gaze.

Hiei in turn studied him. _No questions about the horse? _

Jiro pressed on. "Is he a reporter?"

"No," said Yomohiro at last, his gaze shifting to his son. "This man is an investigator."

"A what?" Jiro's water-pale eyes widened.

"When I discovered my mare was missing," said Yomohiro, "I called an old friend. He recommended this man."

"Now we'll have reporters swarming all over the place!" Jiro burst out. "Why can't they leave us alone?" Springing up, Jiro wrung his hands, as though scrubbing them at an imaginary sink. "It's wrong to keep animals, wrong! Horse racing is abusive!"

"Abusive?" said Hiei.

"Th-they force them into wearing saddles..." The kid jerked a hand through his hair. "Make them run around a track carrying a rider...shove metal between their teeth..."

Yomohiro shifted his gaze from Jiro to Hiei.

"You seem more high-strung than Autumn Velvet," Hiei said.

"Yes." Yomohiro's measured voice cut through his son's histrionics. "Where is my horse?"

At last, the question that should have come first.

But rather than replying, Hiei asked, "Who knew the details of your farm routine?"

A frown creased Yomohiro's brow. "Everyone, I suppose."

As Jiro sank onto the sofa again, Hiei strolled to the window. "It's unwise for so many people to take off on a particular day. You're pitifully understaffed as it is, which left you wide open."

"But the horse-" Yomohiro pressed.

"Why so understaffed in the first place?"

Neither father nor son replied.

"Ran out of money?"

"Money? Is that all you people think about?" Jiro leapt off the sofa. He was doing a lot of leaping. "This is what comes of enslaving animals!"

_Jiro can be as indignant as he likes,_ thought Hiei. _I'm just relieved Yomohiro's son isn't a dead youkai ninja._

Hiei was therefore quite surprised when the 'ninja' himself stalked into the room-but nowhere near as surprised as Jiro.

Jiro turned the color of cheese.

"You!" The ninja pointed at Jiro. "Yer lousy plan failed."

Jiro goggled at the apparition.

Though he knew him by reputation, Hiei had never heard Gesu's voice. He imagined it would sound like this: broad thick dialect, almost a snarl.

Of course it wasn't the fake ninja; it was a human, wearing a costume. For one, there was no hint of _youki_; for another, Hiei had a quick ear, and recognized the voice, no matter how well-disguised. It was Batman.

_All right, Detective,_ he thought, _I'll play along._

"Ya shoulda gimme enough dough up front to rent a van that didn't break down every five minutes!" The 'ninja' pounded a fist into the wall, then whirled upon Jiro. "Pay up or else!"

The ex-Yakuza made no move to stop him, but watched with quiet, calculating eyes.

Hiei heard something outside the window. Smelled something. A scent made familiar by Grandma Hirameki, of the dance studio.

_Target acquired._

One problem. Hiei had ample strength to accomplish what he had in mind, and more than enough speed.

The problem was his reach.

Batman had the reach and then some. But did they have the rapport? Could Batman read Hiei's intent, as surely Kurama or even-loath to admit it-Kuwabara?

He caught Batman's eye. A slow blink was his answer.

Whirling to the window, Batman wrenched it open, and yanked inside the chain-smoking stablehand, who crash-landed on the floor in a terrified heap.

Satou. That was the name. Tall, gaunt, untidy, wearing overalls and gumboots.

"You didn't remove your shoes," said Hiei. "How rude."

"Having a little break, were you?" asked Batman.

Hiei again caught Batman's eye, and spoke to him in English. "I think it's time for some bean-spilling."

"Something's rotten in the state of Denmark," agreed Batman.

"Shakespeare," Hiei mused. "I was in a movie once, allegedly based on _A Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"Allegedly?"

"We proudly refer to it as Naked Japanese Shakespeare."

Batman's lips twitched. "Do I even want to know?"

"Most definitely not."

Back to speaking Japanese.

"Well, gentlemen?" Peeling the mask off his ninja costume, his own cowl intact, Batman revealed himself.

Jiro looked ready to faint. Satou shook like a Chihuahua. Even the self-controlled Yomohiro opened his eyes wide and rose stiff-legged from the sofa.

"Here's the situation," began Hiei.

"We've got two bad cops." Batman cracked his knuckles with evident relish. "And not a good one in sight."

Drawing his sword, Hiei used it to spear a chunk of ham off the tray. "What?" He feigned innocence. "I didn't get dinner."

With the speed of thought, he flashed next to Satou, the business end of his sword an eyelash from the kid's jugular.

"If I were you," advised Batman, "I'd keep still."

Hiei grinned like Tiger Shark. "Care for some ham?"

Through chattering teeth, Satou spoke. "N-no, thanks-"

"Suit yourself." Flicking it with a thumbnail, Hiei sent the ham flying, snapped it up as it fell, and sheathed his sword.

"Stop." With a sidewise glance at Jiro, Yomohiro spoke. "No need for such theatrics. I did it. For the money."

"No," corrected Hiei. "You didn't."

"That's right," said Batman. "No one phones a pal, a priest no less, at the crack of dawn begging for help he doesn't want."

Yomohiro said, "I merely did that to make it look good."

"The hell you did," said Hiei.

"And if you had," added Batman, "you'd be the dumbest ex-Yakuza in the history of the world."

"Which he isn't," added Hiei. "This is a smart, tough guy with a soft spot for hard cases."

"The horse," said Satou. "I meant to tell you-"

"Yes," said Yomohiro. "My mare. My Autumn Velvet. All this time, and no one has told me what happened to her."

Hiei strolled to the bar cart and helped himself to cheese.

"Well?" Yomohiro, a note of apprehension in his voice.

Batman shed the rest of the Ninja costume. "She's back."

Yomohiro sank back to the sofa. "Is she-"

"And if Satou rushed over to give you that bit of good news," Hiei interrupted, "he'd have come by the servant's entrance around back, not under the window."

"But is she all right?" said Yomohiro.

"Maybe," said Hiei. "Watase's looking her over."

"What happened to her?" said the ex-Yakuza. "Where has she been all this time?"

"Not far from here," said Batman. "Which is where she's been all along."

Jiro stuttered. "B-but with the horse so vicious-"

"Vicious?" Hiei said. "She followed me home like a puppy."

"Did she now?" Yomohiro's eyebrows rose.

"She was already tired and thirsty," said Hiei, "and I had her favorite treat on hand. But she wouldn't follow a stranger AWAY from home. She left some of her grain this morning."

"And I think you'll find the grain had been drugged," said Batman. "She's quite the aristocrat, and as sensitive as she is particular. She knew something was off in her feed." He cracked his knuckles again. "Which one of you gentlemen put the drugged feed in her bin? It wasn't the vet. I took the liberty of calling him in, and he should be at the stable by now."

Yomohiro's nostrils whitened. "Her feed was doped?"

"When I brought her to the stable," Hiei said, "Watase and the other horses made enough racket to wake the dead. I might as well have fired off a cannon. So I figure the stablehand overheard and came running to tip someone off."

"You might as well all come clean," suggested Batman.

Silence.

"Shall I spell it out for you?" With a dramatic flair, the Batman assumed each persona involved in the theft, acting out the parts with skill and relish.

_He's enjoying this,_ thought Hiei, spearing another ham cube. _Dinner and a movie. Bonus._

First, Batman assumed the personality of Jiro:

"We'll dope her feed so she'll be easier to handle," said Batman-as-Jiro. "You catch her early in the morning, the minute they put her out to pasture. Stick her in the truck, drive her away as far and as fast as you can, then shoot her."

No one breathed.

Batman spoke in Gesu's dialect: "Yah, boss. What then?"

Jiro: "Eat her for all I care."

Gesu: "What's in it fer you?"

"None of your business?"

"When do I get my cut?"

"As soon as I get my hands on the insurance money."

Batman left off. Jiro was quiet now.

Yomohiro shut his eyes.

Hiei said to Jiro, "Hire cheap, get what you pay for."

Maybe Jiro was remorseful. Or just sorry to be caught. Or maybe he'd turn around and once more betray the man who had taken him from an orphanage and raised him as his own.

"Isn't that pretty much how it went down?" Batman went on. "Jiro knew the horse was insured, and wanted money to fund the Animal Liberation Police. But Gesu doesn't run in Jiro's circle. It was the stablehand Satou, knowing how Jiro felt, who put them in touch with each other."

"No!" Satou burst out. "I told them not to do it! I warned Arai-" He clacked his jaws shut, too late.

"Then that's the final piece of the puzzle," said Batman. "Now I know which of you hay boys was the accomplice."

"Arai won't get far," said Hiei.

Jiro sank back to the sofa and buried his head in his hands.

Outside, wind rustled the night.

Yomohiro opened his eyes, regarding his son.

"And the hell of it is," Batman continued, "Gesu never meant to kill the horse. He was planning a double-cross all along, to sell her on the black market."

Hiei frowned. Even given Batman's reputation as a detective, that was some piece of work. "But the gunshot-"

"Gesu got sick of the truck breaking down. The flat tire was the final straw. Out came the gun, and the horse panicked and kicked him."

Hiei approached Jiro. "Animal rights. You put that above the lives of people. Isn't that how ALP works?"

The boy was unable or unwilling to look at Hiei.

"Yet you were fine with slaughtering Autumn Velvet."

Slowly, methodically, Jiro plucked at his corn-pale hair. Some of the hairs fell glittering to the floral carpet. Still the boy made no sound. Hiei began to reconsider.

"The insurance money wasn't even in your name," Batman chimed in. "You could have asked Gesu to hide the mare for ransom. Your father would have paid-"

"Enough," said Yomohiro.

Without trust, there can be no betrayal. Hiei realized that Jiro was not quite right in the head. He turned his attention from Jiro to the ex-Yakuza.

Those photographs of the gentle girl, Hana, who was no longer of this world. That Son Goku soap dispenser, so out of character in the white marble bathroom.

Everyone wants to be a hero.

Batman was widely regarded as one. Hiei supposed that by some people-Shayla Kidd in particular-so was he.

A hero. Or failing that, at least useful.

By providing a home for a couple of orphans and misfits and hard-luck horses. And Jiro had seen fit to betray him.

Hiei got the sense this was not the first time father and son had traveled this particular merry-go-round.

Years ago, at the very Gate of Betrayal, former foe Urameshi Yuusuke had trusted Hiei with his life. Maybe Hiei wasn't so much a marshmallow as a man of his word.

And if Jiro was merely lost, and not truly wicked, there was the chance that his father's kindness would unravel the goad that drove him, soften his heart, melt away his anger.

Hiei did not have to think long about his own son Michael. Michael was only seven, sound and healthy. But if he went wrong? Hiei would take any kind of bullet for him.

Yomohiro, a tough clever man who had loved Hana, had tried to create the kind of family they would have had together.

He was a father all right.

Hiei caught the eye of the ex-Yakuza, and at last they understood one another.

To Batman, Hiei said in English, "Nicely done, Detective, but how'd you manage it?"

"Trade secret."

_Semi-bastard._ "Still leaves us with a death on our hands, no matter how accidental."

"Fact is," added Batman, "the fake ninja's still alive."

Hiei strove not to betray his shock. _So that's why the horse shied when she had to walk past him._ "Only mostly dead?"

"And eager to sing once he revived," said Batman. "My name meant nothing to him, but when he heard you were on the job, he all but wet himself."

"I have that effect on people."

"Not surprising."

"You still gave a neat performance." Hiei added, in semi-grudging admiration, "Maybe they should have cast you in that Shakespeare movie instead."

"I don't think I have the stomach for it. "

They were interrupted by Satou, falling to his knees. His forehead scraped carpet. "Sir!" he cried to Yomohiro. "I'll tender my resignation. I'll-"

"No." The ex-Yakuza shook his head. "We are still short-handed around here. Since Arai has disgraced himself-"

"-More than that," said Batman. "Got himself arrested."

"-and is no longer in my employ, I cannot make do with only Mick and the groom." Yomohiro turned to Hiei. "I don't suppose you're available."

Hiei snorted. "They haven't minted the money."

Satou remained on his knees. "I'll make it up to you, Sir!"

"Yes." Yomohiro spoke dryly. "You may be sure of it."

_Show's over,_ thought Hiei. He said to Yomohiro, "You'll have to deal with the people who busted Gesu and Arai. What they release to the press is not up to me. It might not even be up to you. But since you called us in to find Autumn Velvet-"

"Our work here," concluded Batman, "is done."

Hiei agreed.

Leaving the Yakuza to his family, they headed for Tokyo.

-30-

(To be concluded: One more hurdle awaits)


	10. Epilogue

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (Epilogue)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: The hour is late, and the stage set for parting shots.

A/N: If thoroughbred horse racing interests you, look up Thoroughbred Champions or the Pedigree Query Forum.

_Idiot Beloved_ takes place after the Dark Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ is its sequel. Thanks for staying with Trade Secret, and please scroll down at the end for a preview of an upcoming story.

"Downwind, lad!"

Trace Secret (Epilogue)

by

Kenshin

_Eight bells and all's well_, thought Father Brian, _or words to that effect._

Father Brian, Mr. Narita Shun, the Batman, and Hiei had gathered in the Agency office to wrap things up.

Of the four, only Father Brian and N were seated, and only Father Brian was fresh and ready to go ten more rounds.

Hiei and the Batman remained standing, as though they didn't wish to get too comfortable. A mere five minutes had elapsed since the debriefings had been concluded, no matter how mercifully swift the questioning.

It had been a long, fruitful day for Father Brian, what with a baptism, a hospital visit to old Mrs. Nakamura recovering from her bunions, then hearing confessions.

Mr. Narita Shun-'N'-looked tired.

What with his back to the fine big window, N couldn't appreciate the splendid view of his bejeweled city at night, which might have lifted his spirits.

As for Hiei, he seemed drained of belligerence, thoughtful, preoccupied, perhaps even a little worried.

Father Brian knew how Hiei felt about debriefings, as though he hung from teeth and eyebrows for every tortured moment. Perhaps that explained his preoccupation.

The Batman looked somewhat less the worse for wear, a scowl in a cape, looming over them with folded arms, silent and inscrutable and as much of a cipher to Father Brian as ever.

N was pouring tea into china cups, sweetening the brew with a little whiskey, as well he should for the lateness of the hour. "Once again," N said to Hiei, "we are in your debt."

Hiei came out of his reverie and deigned to grunt in reply.

_Ahh, lad,_ thought Father Brian. _Would it kill you to say something akin to acknowledgment, just once? Well, yes, given your background, I suppose it would._

Then Hiei added some words. "Thanks," he said. "It was... interesting."

Batman accepted a cup of tea. Father Brian had to be asked twice. Balancing the tea on the arm of his chair, Father Brian studied Hiei. What was troubling the lad?

Hiei met Father Brian's gaze, allowing the priest a rare glimpse of a troubled spirit. "What'll happen to Jiro?"

Father Brian pondered a bit before replying. On that matter, at least, he might be able to set the lad's mind to rest. "I spoke to Yomohiro, probably while you were driving back from the farm. He believed Jiro had been staying away from the farm because he couldn't stand the sight of horses in 'captivity.' He had no idea things had gone that far."

"Yes, but-"

"Jiro is unlikely to face charges, as Yomohiro will not press them. Autumn Velvet has been returned. Thanks in no small part to your efforts, she will be fine, and so will the foal. The mare sustained a few bramble cuts and bruises, says the vet, nothing that won't heal." Father Brian added that she was getting a bodyguard, in the form of three miniature donkeys that would raise Cain if ever she was again threatened.

Life at the farm would settle down. The boy Mick would make a fine horseman. As for the troubled young Jiro-

Whatever the world threw at Mr. Yomohiro Kiten, Father Brian's old friend could handle it. "Jiro," he added quietly, "will be getting the help he needs. The rest is up to him."

Hiei let go a breath.

Then, downing a little fortified tea for courage, Father Brian in turn inquired of Hiei about Zorro-the-Fox. "And that other job, lad? The one you hadn't time for?"

"My schedule suddenly cleared up."

"The part suits you." Father Brian savored the enhanced tea. So the lad had conquered his fear of horses. But now, lest Hiei succumb to overweening pride-

"Mind standin' downwind of me, boy?" Father Brian wrinkled his nose. "You smell like a stable on legs."

"Which is why I'm eager to get home and marinate in Lysol."

"You came through for us again," said the priest, softly. "Sure and you always do."

Hiei shrugged. "Any job where I end up covered in nothing worse than horse slobber is win-win."

"The cowboy here is right," said the Batman. "And I even skipped the horse slobber."

N held out a cup of tea for Hiei.

"Are we done?" Hiei asked, for once waving away anything to do with food or drink.

The Batman, too, wanted to get on with it. "I imagine Gotham's fallen to pieces by now without my assistance," he said.

"Lucky you," Hiei replied. "You've only got a city in pieces. I've got Shay-san."

Batman handed Hiei the opening line. "And why would that be unlucky?"

"I never brought her Autumn Velvet's autograph."

"Listen, Cowboy, any time you're in Gotham and feel like rounding up escaped lunatics-"

"Sure. Sounds like fun."

"For a fake cowboy who breaks people and kills things, you have quite a knack for this line of work."

"And for a hu-ahh, regular guy, Detective, you're not bad." Hiei turned to N. "Am I free to go?"

"Well," began N.

But before N could continue, the air around Hiei blurred, and in a mere eyeblink, he had vanished from the office.

Father Brian chuckled, helping himself to a drop of Suntory.

N pinched the bridge of his nose. "How does he _do_ that?"

The Batman sipped tea. "Trade secret," he said.

-30-

(AN: This concludes _Trade Secret._

_Trade Secret's_ Batman is based largely on _Batman: The Animated Series_, some of the early Detective Comics, and a little flight of fancy.

Now for the preview. The Yuu Yuu Hakusho manga extra, _Two Shots_, recounts the first meeting of Hiei and Kurama. But it also gives a glimpse of Minamino Shuuichi's classmate, Kitajima Maya. If you ever wondered what became of Maya, this is her tale.)

Maya's Tale (Prologue)

by

Kenshin

Though elderly, the Kawasaki sisters were neither cowards nor fools.

"Come away from the window, Ruth," called Olivia. "It's past midnight."

"He's out again," murmured Ruth.

"Oh, dear. Well, all the more reason to come away." Nevertheless, Olivia joined her sister at the lace curtains.

The few remaining street lamps bathed the block with a merciful golden haze.

"I can't see him."

Having enjoyed a pleasant, peaceful upbringing, both sisters longed to re-create such a thing in their own lives. It was not to be.

Younger than Ruth by some years, Olivia had married three times. Each time the marriage had ended without the comfort of children, until she had finally realized the fault lay with her.

Ruth had remained single. Both sister's generous mothering instincts were poured out onto every living soul lucky enough to cross their paths.

They had scaled back their antiquities business, and now mainly performed evaluations of items for insurance purposes.

"There," whispered Ruth. "He just stepped into that circle of light. Can he see us, do you think?"

"The way you carry on, you'd think he could hear us."

Sometimes, Olivia and Ruth discussed selling the house, moving to a high-rise in a busier section of town.

But in the first place, the market being what it was, the street being what it was, who would buy their house?

In the second, well, maybe they were just too stubborn to admit defeat.

Ruth pointed. "He's got that camera, again."

Olivia lowered her voice to a whisper as well. "He gives me the shakes."

Strolling down the street was a tall, dark man, of European descent, dressed in a long, fur-collared overcoat, as though for a Russian winter, with gloves and fur hat, for all that it was April. Judging by the loose skin of his jowls, he appeared to be in his 60s, and no one could say whether the neat moustache and curved, pointed goatee were an attempt to disguise or to emphasize that age.

The overall effect would be considered charming, or even comical, if not for his sinister aura.

"I can hear his footsteps," fretted Ruth. "I swear it."

Though not as susceptible to flights of fancy as dear Ruth, Olivia thought she could hear them, too: slow, measured, tolling like a bell, _doom, doom. _

_As if he knows us,_ she thought, _as if he is putting on a display._

What does he do with that camera?" hissed Ruth.

"Perhaps he photographs the moon," said Olivia, seeking to reassure her sister. "Or the clouds. Or houses."

"Don't say that, Olivia. Don't even think it!"

He stopped then, and swiveled his head toward the house.

Olivia's mouth went dry. "That sweet little girl," she whispered. "You don't suppose-"

Ruth made no reply, but in the cold, dimly-lit parlor, she clutched at her sister's hand.

-30-

(To be continued someday)


End file.
